


The Pain And Promises Of The Dead And Dying

by Squash (JeSuisGourde)



Category: Torchwood
Genre: Gen, Year That Never Was
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-19
Updated: 2018-04-19
Packaged: 2019-04-24 23:39:08
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,888
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14366202
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JeSuisGourde/pseuds/Squash
Summary: The team finally ask Jack what all his little references to the end of the world mean, and find out what happened during The Year That Never Was.





	The Pain And Promises Of The Dead And Dying

**Author's Note:**

> I know most people write Jack revealing everything that happened during TYTNW upon his return in Kiss Kiss Bang Bang. But upon rewatching the series for the first time in a while, I noticed that the entire time Martha is at Torchwood from Reset through A Day In The Death, she and Jack make references around the team about the year, and the team don't seem to have any idea what they're talking about. So I wrote this.

Martha has been gone for a day and a half and already Jack has regaled them all with at least a dozen stories of his adventures with her, grin set firmly on his face as he gestures, going on about chasing a group of hunters through alien scrub or watching Martha play with Crespallion children. However, no one fails to miss the way Jack's grin slides every so often, how his gaze drifts to the side or slips unfocused momentarily.

“Something's up,” Owen states in the middle of the day, leaning on the desk between Tosh and Gwen's stations, staring up at Jack's office. “That is not the way he normally tells his stories. Something's different. He's upset about something, or someone, or he knows something we don't.”

“I know. But he's not going to tell us anything, is he?” Gwen agrees.

“Ianto,” Owen catches his elbow as he walks by, a stack of folders under one arm, “Have you noticed Jack's been acting weird since Martha got here?”

Ianto shrugs. “Dunno. He seems all right. Not dying anytime soon, is he?”

“Cut the crap, Ianto. If we're worried about him, you definitely are. You're the one shagging him, you'd notice.”

“He's...” Ianto sighs, staring down at the folders in his hands. “Since you died, he's been quicker to upset. I don't know if it's to do with you dying or Martha having been here, or both. But something is wrong. Still, it's his life, his secrets. He'll tell us if he wants to.”

He shakes Owen's hand off and starts up the stairs to Jack's office, head down. Owen crosses his arms and leans back against the desk. “So that's it then. Jack's all fucked up and isn't saying anything.”

“Maybe he can't,” Tosh suggests. “Maybe it's got to do with timelines? Or something about our safety.”

“Well, we can't know unless we ask, can we? And he keeps dropping hints about the end of the world, and the apocalypse, and bollocks like that. I don't know about you, but I'd like to know if the world's about to end again. You know, bit of a warning and all that.”

“I want to know, but I'm not about to bother him, if he doesn't want us to know.” Tosh says, as if the decision is final, and both girls turn back to their work.

―—————

The TARDIS key twists on its chain in front of Jack's eyes like a hypnotist's pocket watch. It's days like this he wishes he could just store all his memories in the little chunk of metal and forget. It's days like this he stares at it and tries desperately to remember the good times to override the bad: dancing with Rose on the Chula ship, everyone laughing in a restaurant together, flirting, saving the world when he wasn't the one dying.

It's days like this that he wonders why he and the Joneses are the only ones who have to remember what happened, the only ones who have to know.

Ianto knocks gently on the door frame, his usual placid smile replaced with something gentler, more personal. “I've got some files for you to go through, if you want. They're not urgent, so they can wait if you've got better things to do.”

Jack shakes his head and holds his hands out to relieve Ianto of his stack of papers. “No, I could use some busy work. I'll get these to you by the end of the day, promise.”

―—————

When Ianto passes the autopsy bay, he detours down the stairs to stand next to Owen's computer station. Owen is reading some sort of medical journal report he's probably stolen from some site blocked by a paywall, chewing a pen in concentration, but he looks up when Ianto leans one hip on his desk.

“You're right. He's acting funny. He just agreed to do that whole stack of paperwork and get it back to me by tonight.”

“And you didn't ask him what was up?”

Ianto shakes his head. “It's not my place.” He raises his voice so the girls can hear him. “Pizza for lunch?”

Yells of affirmation from above. Owen sighs and rolls his eyes. “Yeah, all right.”

Jack joins them for lunch in the conference room, and when the conversation turns from Tosh's latest program project to the hen night Gwen went to the other weekend, Jack starts in on his own story, seeming not to notice the way Owen and Ianto's expressions both go dark, twisting worriedly. Jack's in the middle of a spiel about a stag do in the middle of a firebombing on some distant planet, when Owen looks up, a strange sort of energy in his eyes.

“Jack, what aren't you telling us?” Ianto blinks at Owen; he wasn't expecting him to go straight in, no frills. There was probably a more tactful way to go about it, but everyone is also aware of Jack's dexterity in avoiding questions, no matter how direct they might be.

Jack frowns at Owen, pausing in his story, then grins again. “About whether or not the groom actually did accidentally marry his wife and his best man at the same time? Because--”

“Jack. You're yapping away with all these stories like you're trying to cover something up. When Martha was here the two of you kept hinting at the end of the world, the apocalypse. You and she'd go off and have a chat and you'd come out of that office looking like someone had died and then start telling stories and grinning your head off like nothing ever happened. What are you hiding? What's happened?”

Ianto stares at Owen, surprised at the man's level of observation and attention to detail. He had no idea any of the rest of the team paid as much attention to Jack's moods and well-being as he did. Apparently he'd met his equal in Owen. He makes a mental note to thank the doctor for keeping tabs on Jack.

Shifting back in his chair, Jack puts his pizza down and folds his arms, locked in a staring contest with Owen, who refuses to break eye contact. The doctor juts his chin out, defiant. Jack seems to survey his face for a moment, then looks away, casting an eye over the rest of the team. They all carry similar expressions of worry and curiosity. He can see a bit of fear in Gwen and Tosh; in Ianto and Owen there is none of that, only concern and, in Owen's case, some frustration. He sighs, looking down at the table. He really didn't want to do this, but he can see his little asides went too far, that they're worried, that they're going to keep asking.

He spreads his hands on the table and looks Owen in the face, holding eye contact. “The world isn't ending. Not today or in the near future, as far as I can tell. I promise you that.”

“So then what's all this talk been about?"

“The world already ended. In a different timeline.”

Gwen frowns. “What are you talking about?”

He looks in her direction, but addresses the group. “I left with the Doctor. In this timeline, I was gone for how long?”

“Four months, sixteen days.” Ianto answers, without missing a beat.

“You went to Tibet, for a week--”

“And there was nothing.” Owen interrupts, impatient. “It was a false report. We spent a week in the bloody cold for a rumour. Then the US president was shot and we came back here and dealt with all the shit the Rift spat out. Then you showed up again.”

“In this timeline, yes. In this timeline that is currently happening, you went to Tibet, you were cold for a week, and you came home. That's not how it happened for me.”

“What are you talking about, Jack?” Gwen asks. “What happened to you?”

“What do you mean the world ended already?”

Jack sighs, and wishes he had something to do with his hands. “For you, I was gone for four and a half months. You left and came home and stayed home and worked with the Rift as usual. For me, I was gone for a year. In a timeline that happened and then was reversed.”

“A paradox.”

Jack nods in agreement at Ianto's statement. “Yeah.”

“What happened, Jack,” Gwen's eyes are scared and sympathetic, “In the year that didn't happen? Or happened and was undone.”

“A lot. Too much. I don't want to get into all of it, but Harold Saxon, the prime minister? He was a Time Lord, like the Doctor, but driven crazy, driven to evil. He called himself the Master. He took Martha's family hostage, took the Doctor and I hostage. He destroyed everything. He sent you all to the Himalayas to get you out of the way, so he could use his status as PM and as a Time Lord to take over the earth.”

“And what happened to you?”

Jack shakes his head, dismissing Owen's question with a wave of his hand. “Doesn't matter. Martha, she made it down to earth. She walked every continent, putting together a plan to defeat the Master. He tried to capture her or kill her so many times but he never succeeded. She's brilliant. Martha Jones. She saved the human race.”

Tosh finally speaks up, soft, curious. “What happened to us, then? In that year? We still went to the Himalayas, but then what? Surely it wasn't the same.”

Jack takes a slow, deep breath and ducks his chin, looking up at his team with a sort of tired regret. “You died. All of you. Not-- not in the Himalayas. Like this timeline, you left as soon as the president of the US was shot. I guess you figured out something was going on, because you all scattered. He found you all in completely different parts of the world, at completely different times. But you all died, and I couldn't stop it.”

“You talk as if you were there.” He can only hold Owen's gaze for a moment before he has to look away for all the memories flooding him.

“I was.”

There's a stillness as the knowledge sinks in. Jack interrupts it, needing to distract, needing to divert. They all want to know. He can't decide if he wants them to, if they _should_ know. He loves them, he _trusts_ them, almost more than anything else, but this isn't something he'd place on anyone's shoulders. “Martha and the Doctor saved everyone. They devised the plan, raised the resistance, took down the Master, reversed the time paradox. Martha's a hero and no one remembers.”

“What happened to _you_ , Jack?”

He should have expected they wouldn't let this go. He should have expected they'd be curious, worried, confused. He looks round the table again. Somehow, Owen and Ianto seem to have figured it out, to some extent, and are staring at him in dawning horror. Tosh seems well on her way to sussing it as well, and Gwen is just staring at him, worry etched into her features, pooling in her dark eyes.

Usually Owen loves the moment he puts all the clues in place, the moment of realisation. This time, he wishes he could take it all back. He wishes he hadn't noticed Jack's little flinches when people touched him unexpectedly, the frantic, wild look in his eyes upon reviving, the way he let other team members handle certain weapons instead of himself, the way he seemed to want to sacrifice himself for them all more often than before. Across the table, Ianto is thinking of the way Jack watches him sleep at night, how he's woken up in the middle of the night to find Jack dozing beside him, his entire body tense, face clenched in pain. He thinks of the weeks after Jack's return, the way he seemed to have been confused by gentle touch, uncertain of how to react to physical contact that was soft and affectionate. They make eye contact across the table, the twin looks of dawning realisation and distress silently acknowledging the course their thoughts have taken.

Jack breathes, prepares himself. Thinks about the brilliant strength of his team, how they carry themselves and each other through blackness and back out again over and over. They can handle this, can't they? Just his memories, the explanation of his pain; they don't have to remember or relive it. They can handle it. He breathes, closes his eyes, opens them again.

“I died. So many times. The Master knew I can't die, so he chained me up in the belly of the Valiant, surrounded by guards. I couldn't escape even if I got out of the chains. I was cut off from everyone, except the Master and Martha's sister, Tish. Lovely girl, she fed me and cleaned up after me and made sure I was okay after-- Anyway, I was stuck there for a year, until Martha finally beat the Master.”

“Jack, what did Tish comfort you after?” This time it's Ianto, asking in a quiet, horrified voice, needing Jack to assuage his fears, to tell him his assumptions are wrong.

Jack chuckles humourlessly, blinking up at the ceiling to stem the tears that jump to his eyes. “Torture. I was tortured, back there on the Valiant. Not for information, the Master knew I knew nothing. He just liked having a _plaything_ ,” And he can't help the way he spits the word out like it's poison. “I've been tortured before, but not like this. Not for-- so long. He was insane, violently insane. And I was a toy that couldn't die. Having a little insect of a human who comes back every time no matter what you do was like Christmas to him. He got to destroy something _wrong_ over and over again. He sated his violent urges and I took the punishment for humanity itself. What he did to the mortal humans he captured... He would have done it a lot more if I wasn't there. Instead, he experimented on me. Everything he did... Tish cleaned up after I died. Sometimes I'd revive and she'd be there, mopping up after me. We weren't allowed to talk much but-- she checked up on me when she could.”

He wants to look at his team, wants to see their faces, but he knows they will reflect back at him nothing but the horror and disgust and fear and pain he had shoved down and away from that year. The pain Martha's arrival had dredged up again in tiny currents of memory, now crashing through as the images of blood and death and mutilation flash in front of his vision.

“You were captured, too. One by one. They brought you to the Master, and he brought you to me. He tortured you in front of me. Using methods he'd practiced--on me. None of you gave anything away; I was so proud.” He twists his face against tears, against the memories of pain that assault him. “You all died in front of me, and I couldn't stop any of it. I tried to pull my chains loose but they'd reinforced them after the first time I did that.” He hangs his head. “I couldn't even hold any of you as you died. I couldn't do anything. I'm so sorry.”

“No, Jack,” Owen's voice is soft but firm. “ _I'm_ sorry. I didn't realize--”

“I know.”

Owen shakes his head, shocked, penitent, but sliding into doctor mode. “Look, if there's anything we can do--”

“It's over now, it's just memories. Hell, it's less than that. It never even happened.”

“Yes, but _you_ lived it, Jack.” Gwen sounds shell-shocked, disturbed. “ _You_ still remember.”

“I know.”

He looks round the table at his team. Their gazes are distant, horrified, ashamed. Owen looks guilty and desperate to help, blinking rapidly like he'd be crying if he was able. Gwen is staring at him, her eyes huge, mouth half-open like she wants to say something but can't think of anything appropriate. Tosh is staring at the table, hurt and anger and resignation warring on her face. Ianto is looking at him, gaze distant, his own expression pinched as he tries not to cry.

“Tell us, Jack.” Ianto's voice is clogged with tears. “What can we do? How do we help you?”

Jack shrugs. “I don't know.” He tries to play it off. “I've survived worse things.”

“No you haven't.” Ianto's response is barely above a whisper.

“No, I haven't.” He sighs, dropping his head, reaching his hand out across the table to take Owen's, but addressing Ianto. “I don't know. I don't even know how I'm supposed to help myself with this one. I guess... I guess, just, help me, if I ask. And I'll talk to you about it, if you want me to. If I'm ready. And-- stay safe, stay alive. Keep each other safe. I don't want any of you dying again, not for a long while.”

Owen squeezes his hand, hard. “I promise,” He says, voice threaded with protective anger, with sorrow. Everyone else nods, staring at Jack with a grief-stricken resolve. Owen squeezes his hand again to regain his attention, nodding, his gaze locked with Jack's. “We promise.”

 


End file.
